“Yes—you needn’t laugh—I guess I know the taste of raspberry jam, and it was on that sleeve, as sure as I’m sitting here!”
“Gee!” repeated Fibsy, his fists clenched on his knees and his bright eyes fairly boring into the old lady’s countenance. “Gee whiz!”
“Go on,” said Stone, quietly.
“And—I smelt gasoline,” concluded Miss Ames defiantly. “Now, sir, there’s the story. Make what you will out of it, it’s every word true. I’ve thought it over and over, since I realized what it all meant, and had I known at the time it was Sanford’s spirit, I should have spoken to him. But as it was, I was too stunned to speak, and when I tried to hold him, he slipped away, and disappeared. But it was positively a materialization of Sanford Embury’s flitting spirit—and nothing else.”
“The vision may argue a passing soul,” Stone said kindly, as if humoring her, “but the effect on your other senses, seems to me to indicate a living person.”
“No,” and Aunt Abby spoke with deep solemnity, “a materialized spirit is evident to our senses—one or another of them. In this case I discerned it by all five senses, which is unusual—possibly unique; but I am very psychic—very sensitive to spiritual manifestations.”
“You have seen ghosts before, then?”
“Oh, yes. I have visions often. But never such a strange one.”
“And where did this spirit disappear to?”
“It just faded. It seemed to waft on across the room. I closed my eyes involuntarily, and when I opened them again it was gone.”